


Alice

by sylwrites



Series: fall in light [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: The first of a few codas/tags to the original Fall In Light.Betty's mother comes to visit.





	Alice

_ You are fastened to them and cannot understand how, because they are not fastened to you. _

  * Antonio Porchia



  
  
  


Ever since she’d moved in at the beginning of September, Jughead had seen Betty in a lot of different situations. She’d been sad, stressed, excited, angry - but  _ this  _ was something new altogether. From his position leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom, he watches her flit around nervously, straightening the already perfectly straight sheets and smoothing the curtains. As he does so, Jughead realizes: Betty has gone completely insane.

 

“Do you think the flowers clash with my bedspread?”

 

Jughead’s eyes slide from Betty to her light lavender duvet, then to the deeper purple and bright yellow of the lilies that sit on the dresser by the window. Was that even a real question? He frowns. “Uhh … I don’t think so…”

 

Betty whirls on him. “I could run out and get other ones before she gets here. White? Fuck. I should have just gotten white to begin with. Yellow and purple are so ostentatious. What is wrong with me?” She grasps her hands into fists and lets out a frustrated groan, her eyelashes flicking rapidly.

 

“Hey, hey, don’t,” Jughead says quickly, immediately straightening up and going to her side. He grabs her hands and uncurls the fists, sliding them into his. “The flowers look nice. Your mom will like them.” He tugs her closer and moves a hand to her waist. “Is everything okay?” he asks quietly. “You’re scaring me a little, Betts.”

 

Betty nibbles anxiously on her lower lip. “I know, I’m sorry.” She leans into his arms and presses her face in his neck, breathing slowly. Jughead slides both hands across her back and rubs quietly. “I just want everything to go well.”

 

Jughead is quiet as he continues to hold her. She smells like raspberries and she feels like silk, but there’s still tension in her body so he doesn’t want to let go quite yet. She’s been worrying for two weeks, ever since she and her mother had finalized the arrangements for her visit in mid-February. The apartment has never been cleaner. The fridge has never been more fully stocked, prepared for anything Alice Cooper may want. But Betty’s anxiety has also never been quite at this level, and Jughead is not okay with that. He’s heard stories about her mother, about her high expectations and her critical nature, and god, he definitely understands the desire to please one’s parents  _ (maybe if I’m really good, he’ll stay this time),  _ but Betty has spent six months building herself into the empowered goddess that he knows her to be today, and Jughead will be damned if he lets one woman ruin that.

 

“It will,” he promises. “Would it make you feel better to pick out my outfits for the next four days?”

 

Betty giggles, then smiles at him sheepishly. “I considered it,” she says. “But I decided I want her to like you for you, suspenders and beanie and all.”

 

Jughead frowns, not sure if he should be touched or offended or both. “That’s sweet … I think.”

 

The buzzer that signifies the arrival of a visitor to the apartment sounds, and Betty immediately flies to the wall near the front door. She chirps, “Hi Mom! Come on up!” into the speaker, then buzzes her in. Betty leans against the wall, glances over at Jughead, and gives him a nervous smile. He returns it, and they’re quiet for a few minutes until there’s a knock. “Here goes nothing,” she says, and opens the door.

 

One hour passes, and Jughead now gets all the hype about Alice Cooper. The woman is intimidating and terrifying while also being courteous and poised. She seems to have the uncanny ability to destroy a person with her eyes at the same time as her lips are speaking polite chitchat. Jughead is left with the conflicted sense that she may have been a genteel beauty queen at one point in her life but also that she may have buried a body somewhere, and it’s a little unnerving. She has a way of saying his name like she’s a teacher and it’s an important fact for her nonexistent class to remember - separately and carefully,  _ Jug Head  _ \- and it’s completely throwing him off. 

 

(It’s fucking impressive, really.)

 

The first scary moment had come upon her initial arrival, when he’d carried her bags into the bedroom, and behind him Alice had remarked, “Very interesting.”

 

Thankfully, his back had been turned, so when his eyes darted sharply to Betty’s, Alice couldn’t see his panic. Betty had immediately fixed a smile on her face and said, “This’ll be more comfortable than the couch, Mom!”

 

“So you’ll be sleeping with him, then?” Alice countered in icy curiosity, as Jughead continued to busy himself with the luggage. His palms suddenly felt slightly sweaty.

 

“Yes Mom, you know we’re together,” Betty had responded, and there were a few unintelligible whispers before Alice had walked in the room, her strides full of purpose, and fixed him with a stony smile.

 

“Thank you for carrying my bag, Jughead.” 

 

He gives her a small, closed-mouthed smile. “You’re welcome. Um. Towels and stuff are in the bathroom - if you need anything else let one of us know.”

 

“Of course.” Alice walks over to the lilies, heels clicking on the floor, and regards them with a pleased expression. “The flowers are nice, Betty.”

 

Jughead can hear the audible sigh of relief from his girlfriend, and he takes her hand instinctively. “We’ll let you get settled, Mom,” Betty says, excusing herself and sneaking backwards out of the room, tugging Jughead with her down the hallway and then into his room. She closes the door on the way and leans into Jughead’s chest in mock exhaustion.

 

He kisses her head, arms coming around her. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Her face is flushed red. “Just annoyed. She warned me to be careful with you. Told me you seem like a nice young man but I’m ‘too trusting’ and that we both know what happened last time I trusted a nice young man.” Betty groans and buries her face in Jughead’s chest.

 

He holds her tightly, vaguely horrified. Obviously, he’s aware that Betty has been through something traumatic. And clearly, although her mother does seem like a bit of a controlling lunatic, Alice cares deeply about her daughter. It might not be evident in the icy bite of her words or in her clipped tone, but it’s there in her eyes when she looks at Betty. She has the tense edge of a woman who’d spent her life doing everything to protect her daughters and ensure their success, and still failed in one respect. So Jughead understands, at least on the surface, why Alice would be wary of him - but it still hurts. He’s never felt about anyone the way that he feels about Betty. And he, too, feels a strange, unfamiliar  _ need  _ to protect her. It’s so strong that in some situations he has to purposely reel himself in and defer to her personal agency and judgment, but the difference between them, he notes proudly, is that he  _ does. _

 

“I would  _ never  _ do anything to pressure you into anything,” Jughead says, unable to hide the offended tone of his voice. He lets her take the reigns on everything, even beyond their physical relationship. He loves when she falls asleep in his arms, but she doesn’t always want to sleep in bed with him, and he respects her need to build up to that slowly. They haven’t had sex either, and Jughead has taken great steps to ensure that each new step toward that is always initiated by her (there have been a lot of visions of dancing naked Archie or Moose crossing his mind). So he  _ is  _ offended, truthfully - and the very idea that Betty’s mother even thinks that something like that may be true about him is painful, regardless of how logical he recognizes her hesitation to be.

 

Betty lifts her head and flutters her lashes at him, eyes full of adoration. He’ll never get tired of her looking at him like that. “I know that,” she says, then kisses him softly. “Now c’mon, let’s get back out there. Mom mentioned chicken salad, so we’d better get crackin’.”

 

Jughead nods and lets go of her. He walks toward the bedroom door and then stops with his hand on the knob, confused. “Wait, what do you mean,  _ salad?”  _

 

\--

 

The following morning, Jughead has a shift at the library. He’d initially been apologetic that he couldn’t change it to be off while her mother was in town, but after a tense evening (during which he was trying really hard not to snap on her) Jughead was actually relieved to be at work. Betty and her mother were going out shopping and to see some of the tourist sights; he planned to meet them somewhere in Dumbo for dinner. 

 

He spends five hours reshelving books, which at this point is actually just relaxing. The system is complicated but Jughead has worked here for a few years now, so he’s able to pop in earbuds and let time march forward mindlessly. It turns out to work wonders for his mental state, and he needs it today for sure.

 

Jughead gets off work an hour earlier than scheduled and decides he needs some advice on the situation from someone who’s been there. So instead of going back to Brooklyn early, he goes in the opposite direction and takes the train to Hamilton Heights. The doorman lets him up, and Jughead does the now-familiar walk down the White Mile (as he’s beginning to dub the hallway to Archie and Veronica’s apartment) before he knocks on the too-beautiful door.

 

It swings open. “Jug,” Archie greets, surprised. “What’s up?”

 

“I need advice,” Jughead says with a hesitant sigh. “Is now a - oh. Sorry.” He looks past Archie and notices Veronica sitting on the couch next to a beautiful older woman with familiar dark features. “Didn’t know you guys had company.”

 

“It’s just my mom!” Veronica calls. “Come in!”

 

Jughead shifts his weight uncomfortably but enters anyway. “Okay.”

 

Veronica’s mother rises off the couch elegantly, as though all of her limbs were perfectly formed to move together with coordinated grace and ease instead of the subtle awkwardness that most people seemed to carry. “Hermione Lodge,” she says politely, with the air of someone who has spent years introducing herself to people of wealth and class. “Jughead, I’ve heard so many things about you. Veronica speaks very highly of you and Betty.”

 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Jughead shakes her hand, then rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

“Sit,” Veronica insists, patting the couch cushion beside her. “No Betty?”

 

“I just got off work,” Jughead says by way of explanation. He obeys and sits on the couch beside Veronica, his eyes sliding uncomfortably to Archie.

 

His friend sits down in the armchair across from him. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and looks at Jughead. “You said you needed advice, bro? Everything okay?”

 

“Advice?” Veronica echoes, raising one perfect eyebrow. Then she suddenly claps her hands together. “Ooh! Are you proposing to Betty? You need ring help. You’ve come to the perfect place. Okay, princess cut,  _ nothing  _ coloured, and don’t get one of those bands with the--”

 

“Jesus, Veronica, we’ve been together three months, hold up.” Jughead holds his hand up and shakes his head at her. “Not that. But yeah, I am in need of some guidance,” he confirms, choosing his words carefully to avoid a similar outburst from his friend. “Betty’s mom is in town for a few days to visit. She got in last night. And as it turns out, she  _ hates  _ me.”

 

Jughead watches as Veronica makes quick eye contact with Archie, then her mother. She smiles sheepishly. “Archie knows a thing or two about parents disliking him. He and Daddy - well, it’s more Daddy, really, Archie has always been so nice - they don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

 

“Your father doesn’t dislike Archie, Veronica,” Hermione interrupts, her hands resting primly on her lap. “He’s just protective. And Jughead, dear, I’m sure Betty’s mother is as well. Once she gets to know you, everything will be smooth sailing.”

 

“That’s what they said about Mr. Lodge too,” Archie interjects wryly, earning himself a sharp frown of disapproval from Veronica. He winces. “Sorry. Just kidding.”

 

Jughead raises his eyebrows at Archie. “You’re really boosting morale, Arch.”

 

Hermione angles her body slightly toward Jughead and begins to look at him with a sort of gentle intensity that he would not suspect from the mother of somebody like Veronica. “The only thing a mother wants, dear, is to know that her children are being looked after, and that they’re spending time with people who make them happy,” she explains.

 

Jughead may be familiar with wanting to please his parents, but he’s never had parents that had done much in the way of pleasing  _ him.  _ Apart from his father’s irregular visits to claim sobriety and reform, neither of his parents try to check in on him, wonder who he’s with, or what he’s doing. If his mother passed him on the street, he’s not even sure she’d recognize him. And while Hermione’s words are not instructive, they do give Jughead a bit more of a platform to understand Alice’s motivations. 

 

“Well if that’s true, don’t worry, bro,” Archie says, glancing at Veronica.

 

They seem to be having some kind of unspoken conversation, because Veronica nods and a moment later adds, “Yeah, Jughead, I know Betty has said she’s a bit overprotective but all this woman needs to do is spend a bit of time around the two of you and believe me, she’ll back off. It’s extremely obvious to anybody that looks at you that you’re, like, desperately in love with her.”

 

_ Desperately in love. _

 

Jughead’s face burns. He’s not an idiot - he knows that the word is thrown around a lot. He knows it’s casual for many people. But those people aren’t him. They haven’t had his life, they don’t know his story, and they don’t understand his perspective. For his whole life, love has always been fleeting, something to be taken away and not reciprocated, or returned sporadically at best. His father loves him,  _ but.  _ His mother loved him,  _ until.  _ Jughead prefers the word  _ caring,  _ because nobody expects anything particular from it, and he gets to impose his own standards. They’re high - quite high, he thinks - but that’s why he only cares about a select few people to begin with. Caring, he can handle. Love is a much more complicated concept that he needs time to work through.

 

For some people, the word  _ love  _ means too much; for Jughead, it means too little.

 

His phone buzzes, and when he looks at it he sees a text from Betty. He smiles at the sight of her name on the screen and then catches himself with flushed cheeks, knowing he’s just proving Veronica’s point.

 

(He’s going to stay open-minded on the love front.)

 

\--

 

An hour and a half later, Jughead is sitting at a table in a quaint restaurant in Dumbo, eating some kind of fancy ricotta pasta that Betty called malfatti. She is seated beside him, and across from both of them, Alice. The restaurant has some kind of flowery name that he already can’t remember, but the pasta is delicious and came with some kind of lamb shoulder and parmesan, so he’s pretty pleased overall with their decisions. He’d noticed Betty eyeing up the pasta dish that a woman from a neighbouring table was eating, but then Alice had given her a pointed look, and before Jughead knew what was going on Betty had ordered the fish entree and substituted the rice for extra vegetables.

 

Alice Cooper is giving him whiplash; he’s not sure if he’s supposed to like her, respect her, or just hate her. Right now, it’s leaning toward the latter.

 

They’d enjoyed somewhat of a tourist day, with Betty taking her mother up to the top of Rockefeller Centre. He and Betty had been a few months before, on Thanksgiving; he imagines that this trip was somewhat less relaxing. Still, ever the optimist, Betty chats happily about it. “It was so clear - freezing, but so  _ clear.  _ You could see all around.” She looks over at Jughead and rests a hand on his leg under the table. “And it reminded me of when we went.”

 

“That was a nice day,” Jughead agrees, smiling at her. He would relive it a million times if time worked that way. It was that perfect time between figuring that a person's feelings were reciprocated and the two of them actually getting their shit together, where every single touch means something special, where the words spoken are ever-precious. Then again, he still feels that way with Betty; the only difference is now he doesn't have to be afraid to kiss her. 

 

“I had such a crush on you,” Betty admits, and he can’t stop himself from grinning.

 

“I don’t think I was very subtle either.” Jughead threads their fingers together briefly and squeezes her hand, then drops it so he can pick up his fork again. “Did you get out to see the Statue of Liberty?”

 

Alice nods. “Yes, although I think I enjoyed the Ellis Island portion more. The museum was very interesting.” She sips a glass of white wine - not the most expensive, Jughead notices, but not the cheapest either. How epitomal. On the surface, she was classic upper-middle class, right down to her simple gold necklace and pressed cardigan, but if he looked a little closer there was a glint of something a bit more dangerous in her eye. 

 

“I liked it too. Sad that they lost some of the artifacts in Hurricane Sandy.” Betty folds her napkin carefully and sets it on the table. “Please excuse me, I have to use the ladies’ room.” She gives Jughead a sweet smile, rises from the table, and then skips away.

 

Jughead turns back to his plate of pasta, but a throat clearing almost immediately makes him look up. Alice has leaned back in her chair, one hand still holding her fork, and is looking at him with ice and careful control in her eyes. “Jughead,” she states. “How long have you been living in New York?”

 

He swallows his bite of food. “Off and on since I was about thirteen, but I spent some time in New Jersey as a teenager.”

 

She nods, seeming to accept that answer. She brushes a lock of perfectly coiffed hair off her shoulder. “And what do your parents do?”

 

Jughead raises an eyebrow at her. Now he gets what this is: an interrogation. It becomes suddenly very clear to him that this is a woman who is accustomed to controlling a situation, and also one who has not faced a lot of opposition. It may work on her family, but Jughead is damned if he’s going to let her try to intimidate him, especially where Betty is concerned. He has dealt with all kinds of adults on crazy power trips throughout the time he spent dealing off and on with the foster system (which was not that long consecutively, thanks to Fred Andrews), but he is not fourteen anymore and this is not a homeless shelter. 

 

“My mother left when I was a kid and I don’t have much contact with my father. Last I heard, he didn’t have a job.”

 

“I see.” Alice gives no sign that what he’s said is shocking - not even a twinge of sympathy, which he oddly respects. “But you hold a job?”

 

Jughead narrows his eyes slightly. He was there today; she obviously knows the answer to this question. “Yes. I’m on funding to complete my masters, but I also work at the New York Public Library.”

 

“Good.” She takes another sip of her wine. “Betty tells me that you two are dating.” The last word comes out with sharp intention, her teeth clicking at the end. “What exactly is your intention there?”

 

Jughead sets his fork down altogether and leans ever-so-slightly toward the table. “My  _ intention  _ is to be with Betty, for as long as she’ll have me, however she wants me to be. And that’s all.”

 

Alice sets her jaw. “Jughead, are you aware that my daughter is a rape victim?”

 

It's been months since he’d first found out about Betty’s assault, but the word is still like a punch to the gut. And coming from Alice, it sounds so business-like and clinical. Jughead's first instinct is to hate her for the cold, uncaring way it comes out, but then he notices her hands, the way her fingers tremble against her knife, and he suddenly wonders if  _ this  _ is a mother’s love. If it is, he thinks, she's a bit misguided. Betty is so much more than that.

 

So Jughead sits up straight in his chair and looks Alice dead in the eye. “No,” he says matter-of-factly, infusing his voice with all the steel and controlled fury he usually reserves exclusively for his father. “She’s not a victim. She's a survivor. And she’s a hell of a lot stronger than you think she is.”

 

Alice narrows her eyes but says nothing. Their eye contact is maintained for an uncomfortable length of time before Betty comes back, pecks Jughead on the cheek, and begins to ask her mother about the Broadway show they have tickets to the following evening. Jughead finishes his pasta, keeping a wary eye on Alice, and when they leave the restaurant he threads his fingers into Betty’s tightly.

 

\--

 

His bladder wakes him at 5:45 the next morning, half an hour before Betty's alarm usually goes off. Jughead slips out of bed in the bleary darkness, nearly tripping over Caramel in the process. He makes a quick trip to the bathroom and returns with his eyes newly adjusted to the dusky morning light, which from his bedroom window at this time of year is really just the glow from perpetually-on neon signs. Usually, the harsh red makes his bedroom look sort of seedy, but right now Betty is asleep in the bed and Betty makes everything look royal to him. 

 

Her pajama pants have cupcakes on them, but with the dark blue and green plaid comforter pulled to her waist, all that is visible is her white tank top. She's curled on her side, blonde hair messy across the pillow, a contented look on her face. Jughead climbs into bed, careful not to wake her, and stares at her. If he was an artist, he would paint her; instead, when he sees her his mind fills with endless verbs and nouns. There are never adjectives; nothing can quite describe how beautiful she is. 

 

He still can't believe  _ she's  _ with  _ him.  _ A few times when they've been out together, Jughead swears a couple of people have given them confused looks - and he can't even bring himself to be offended, because he gets it. She's by far the prettiest girl he's ever seen, and the only reason he won't describe her as perfect is because he knows she loathes the term. 

 

(Of course - to him, she is.) 

 

Jughead leans in and presses the softest of kisses to her lips. Her nose wrinkles, she smiles in her sleep, and he's so fucking gone for her. He slides his arms around her and drops his face to her hair, breathing her in. She shuffles closer to him in her sleep, and he closes his eyes. 

 

The next time he opens them, his phone reads 8:00. Jughead rubs his eyes, rolls onto his back, and is treated to the sight of Betty, freshly showered. She's only wearing a t-shirt and panties, not having quite gotten around to pulling on her leggings yet. She turns slightly to the side, reaching to grab a clip for her wet hair, and his mouth goes dry. The panties are actually a thong, and _jesus christ,_ she is so fucking sexy. Sometimes he feels like he is a student in a master class on self-control, and Betty is the final exam. 

 

He immediately lifts his hands to his face, pressing the heels into his eyes, and mumbles, “Babe, I'm awake, just so you know.”

 

The mattress depresses beside him, and Jughead lifts one hand from his face. Betty is laying on the bed on her side, facing him, propped up on her elbow. “Babe?” she questions.

 

He makes a face. “It just came out. You don't like it?”

 

She shrugs and leans over him. “I like it. Just doesn't sound like you.”

 

“Yeah, well. You bring out a lot of things in me I never expected.” Jughead’s eyes flick down to her legs. “Will it make you uncomfortable if I give you a mildly crass compliment right now?”

 

Betty bites her lip against a smile, but her shy grin is too powerful. “It's okay coming from you.”

 

He reaches over and tugs her closer, the hand that he sets on her waist resting dangerously close to her exposed, smooth skin. “You have the sexiest legs.”

 

Betty blushes and dips her face into his neck. She taps his bicep, signalling permission, and Jughead slides his hand down to her ass. He rubs the soft skin with his thumb, then grasps it more fully and squeezes. Betty muffles a squeal and bites his earlobe playfully in response. “You like that too,” she observes, giggling. 

 

“Mm. It's pretty nice.” Jughead smiles at her, then lifts his hand to her face and brings her down for a kiss. “My favourite part is still up here, though.”

 

Betty laughs softly. “You're  _ such  _ a cheeseball,” she tells him, kissing him again. She deepens it this time, and his hands slide back down. She feels incredible against him, on top of him, under his hands. He will never get tired of this: cuddling, kissing his gorgeous girlfriend in the early morning, staring at her while she sleeps and pretending to sleep while she stares at him. 

 

Finally, she pulls back, leaving him with a final peck on the lips. 

 

“I need to make breakfast. And I have editing to do today at some point - Mom is going to meet a friend from high school for coffee or something around 2:00 so I have time then, I think.”

 

“Or, you could ignore all that and stay in bed with me,” Jughead jokes, flexing his biceps. “Hmm? Tempting, right?”

 

Betty tugs her leggings on. “Sure,” she says, winking. “You gonna help me with breakfast?”

 

Jughead stretches. “Yeah, I can do that.” He sits up and grabs his beanie, shoving it on his head. “As long as we can add chocolate chips to the pancakes.”

 

“We're having eggs benedict,” Betty informs him with a raised eyebrow. “My mother is not exactly the chocolate chip pancake type.” 

 

“Betty,  _ everyone  _ is the chocolate chip pancake type. I will convert her through my charm.”

 

She snorts at that, and before Jughead can even drop his jaw in faux outrage, she's through the door and gone. 

 

\--

 

The one thing about living in New York that Jughead doesn't care for at all is Broadway. He  _ hates  _ musicals, hates the tone in everyone's screeching voices, hates the exaggerated expressions and mannerisms. And yet here he is, sitting on the A three stops from 125th, with twenty-some stops left until he gets home - and he has fucking  _ show tunes  _ in his head. 

 

Jughead gets it - they're designed to be catchy, to stick in your head. You're  _ supposed  _ to sing them after, supposed to hum them at work and have your friends ask so that they want to go, too. Unfortunately, understanding the rationality behind it doesn't make him hate himself any less. Besides, he knows it'll be out of his mind in less than a day - he has a tendency to listen to music while he writes, and he has a lot of that to do tonight once Betty and her mom go to bed. 

 

Alice, at least, seemed to enjoy the show, which really was the whole point. In general, she seems to be warmer toward him today. They'd had a good breakfast, then she'd gone to meet a friend, and upon her return he and Betty had walked her around their favourite spots in Brooklyn. Betty made a quick early dinner, then they’d cabbed to the theatre so as not to be late. There was no particular time they had to be home afterward, so there was enough time for the hour-long trip back on the subway. 

 

Although Alice was less icy toward him, she still seems to be watching him. He decides he's not going to let her interfere and doesn't act any differently around Betty than he normally would. She's generally not comfortable with major public displays of affection, and Jughead isn't into that either, so there's not much to be embarrassed about anyway. He still holds her hand, still keeps her close on the street, still tries to make her laugh to distract her in the crowd immediately after the show.

 

And now, on the train, he still sits between her and the rest of the car. It grows less and less crowded as the stops pass, but it's become a habit for him to stand between her and the crowd. They've never spoken about it, but he can see the gratitude in her eyes every time, and that makes it worth it. Alice is sitting perpendicular to them, always poised, with crossed legs and perfect posture. Betty seems to have let a little of her anxiety go, because she's let herself slouch a bit. She's exhausted, he can tell; between her early morning runs, school, and the stress of her mother's visit, Betty hadn't had much of a good sleep lately. Her head keeps bobbing with the startle of waking every so often, eyes gently glazed with sleepiness. 

 

Jughead puts his right arm around her to encourage her to rest her head on his shoulder. She does, automatically, and he begins to rub her arm with his thumb. Their left hands entwine on her lap, his lips press to her head, and Alice Cooper smiles at them. 

 

\--

 

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, again thanks for the response to Fall In Light. As promised here is a short tag to that story. I will be posting more of them as time permits. I will try to post them in chronological order but it may get muddled a bit. 
> 
> As always comments are very much appreciated. (I've turned on anonymous commenting, so even if you're not an AO3 member please leave a review!)


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